


Rusted Silver

by allisonfunn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Self-Hatred, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonfunn/pseuds/allisonfunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is suffering and Steve doesn't know what to do - but he's trying so hard, dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set an undetermined amount of time after the events during the Ant Man post credit scene.

Even though the door was shut and they were a couple room down the hall, Bucky could still hear them fighting. 

 _About me_ , he thought, hunching his shoulders and trying to curl into himself.  _They're fighting about me._

“He's a prisoner of war, Tony!”

“He killed my parents!”

“You don't know that for certain!”

“I know you think he's your friend, but quit defending him!”

“Goddamnit, Stark!” There was a loud bang, like hands slamming onto a table. “He  _is_ my friend! And I'll defend him until the last breath leaves my body!”

“Language, Rogers!”

“Build it!”

He flinched as a door slammed and then tugged the hood of his sweatshirt further over his face. The door to the room he sat in slowly creaked open; he peeked up at Steve. 

“I'm sorry,” Bucky whispered, his voice soft and foreign to himself. “I'm causing so much trouble. I shouldn't even be here.”

“Buck, it's okay.” Steve reached out to place a hand on his shoulder before pausing at the last second. “Can I...?”

The question hung in the air. Can I touch you? Are you going to panic again? Will you lash out? 

Bucky inhaled sharply and leaned over again, his abdomen clenching painfully. “I can't... Steve, I can't do this.” He groaned harshly, fighting back a scream that threatened to rip itself from his throat.

Steve crouched down, positioning his face in front of Bucky's.

“Can't do what, Bucky?”

Bucky inhaled and exhaled quickly, causing himself to choke on his own spit. His body wracked with violent coughing. Steve gently placed his hand on Bucky's flesh and blood arm. 

“Bucky. You're okay. You're here,” Steve tried, voice cracking. 

Bucky muttered something and pulled away from Steve's hand like he'd been burnt. 

“Let me help you,” Steve whispered. Bucky muttered a response but in a language Steve did not understand.

“He's saying his identification number in Russian,” Steve heard from behind him. He whipped around to see Natasha. 

“Nat,” Steve said.

“He's saying,” she paused, walking into the room further. “He's saying he's sorry he's failed the mission and that he should just die.” She looked over her shoulder at Steve, pinning him under her harsh gaze. “What'd you say to him?”

“Don't look at me like that,” Steve snapped. “I wouldn't say anything that would hurt him.”

“I assume he heard you and Tony going at each other's throats, then.” Natasha sighed and knelt in front of Bucky. She began whispering in Russian. 

Bucky looked up finally, his eyes rimmed red from tears and a past of unimaginable horror. He muttered something back to her, wiping his nose on his sweatshirt. 

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to him, careful to avoid any physical contact. 

“What are you telling him?” Steve asked, standing in the corner and wringing his hands. 

“That he's in a safe place here. And no one will hurt him.” She stood and smoothed imaginary creases out of her pants. “He needs to sleep this off,” she said. “A doctor gave him sleeping medicine, right?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, it's in his room.”

Natasha nodded—mostly to herself—and held her hand out, palm up, to Bucky. She whispered something to him again, and he raised his puppy-dog-eyes to her stern-but-loving-mother-eyes. He slowly placed his hand on hers and let himself be pulled up. She said something in Russian again.

“I really need to learn Russian,” Steve grumbled, holding open the door for them to pass through.

“No,” Natasha said. “The more English he hears the better.” Steve raised an eyebrow, and she scoffed. “I’m only speaking Russian, because he’s not responding in English. I’m making sure he doesn’t feel inferior.” She led him out of the room, letting Bucky grip her hand as tightly as needed. “He was trained in Russian. Like a dog. To make him feel like a dog.”

“Oh,” Steve sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Yeah.” Natasha stopped at the entrance to the stairwell. “What floor is he on again?”

“We’re up two floors,” Steve responded. Nat cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “We’re on the same floor because he can’t be alone, you perv.”

“Hey, I’m not suggesting anything the internet hasn’t,” she shrugged. “I think your fans call it ‘Stucky’ or something.”

Steve groaned and held the door open. “Why do you read that?”

“Because there is nothing to do,” she responded, tugging Bucky’s hand but leading him at his own pace. “I mean, Sam is with  _Ant_ -man or whatever that guy calls himself. Clint isn’t here because he’s with his family. The Vision is teaching Wanda stuff. Thor is protecting the Nine Realms. God knows where Bruce is.” She sighed. “Nothing is happening. Which isn’t sitting right with me.”

“So you read fan theories about me and Bucky instead?”

Natasha grinned. “Of course.” But, her smile faded a little. “I’m just reading up on your guys’ past.”

The two stayed quiet as Bucky slowly climbed the first set of stairs.

“And, you forgot Tony,” Steve finally said. Natasha looked at him and tilted her head. “When you were listing off what everyone is doing. You forgot Tony.”

“Well, Tony’s being an asshat.” She shrugged. “You knew that.”

“Being an asshat and not building him a new arm,” Steve growled.

“Give him a while, okay?” Natasha said.

Steve exhaled out of his nose sharply and wrenched the stairwell door open. It groaned, voicing Steve’s own inner turmoil. He stayed back to let the door quietly click shut behind him.

“If he could just act like a decent human being…” Steve tapered off and walked to the door of their shared apartment. He placed his hand on the palm reader and waited for the door to click.

“I know,” Natasha said. “I’m sorry. Want me to talk to him?”

“It’s fine.” Steve shook his head. “And, I got this from here,” he said as Natasha gently sat Bucky on a plush sofa.

“If you need any help, text me. Okay?” She said, patting Steve on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Steve said, walking with Natasha to the door. “I really appreciate everything.”

Natasha shrugged and walked out of the door. Steve watched her get into the elevator. She rolled her eyes, saluting him as the doors closed.

Steve closed and bolted the door, looking over at Bucky who was staring at his hands. He let out an imperceptible sigh and retrieved Bucky’s sleeping medicine. Pouring a glass of water, Steve turned and looked at Bucky’s slumped posture.

“Buck?” Steve tried. Bucky sniffed and glanced up at him.

“Stevie?” Bucky whispered, voice catching. “What…” Bucky looked around. “Are we in our living room?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “And hey,” he held out the glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other. “You need to sleep.”

“I hate those,” Bucky whispered. “I don’t need them,” he pleaded.

“I heard you all but screaming in your sleep last night,” Steve said, dropping the pill in the Bucky’s hand. Bucky furrowed his brow and looked at the pill in his hand. “I can stay with you all night,” he offered.

Bucky looked up at Steve, eyes wet. “If it’s not too much to ask.”

Steve placed the glass of water on the side table for Bucky to pick up. He smiled down at his friend. “Anything you need, bud.”


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha watched the monitor as the floor numbers dinged lower.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., where’s Tony at?” She asked.

“Ma’am,” came a disembodied female voice. “I am sorry to correct you, but I am F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Shit,” Natasha muttered. “I keep forgetting that.”

“It is fine.” There was a pause. “Mr. Stark has just arrived in the lowest basement workshop.”

Natasha nodded. “Take me there.”

“Of course.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, Natasha wondering if artificial intelligence could have hurt feelings.

The door dinged open.

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Natasha said, exiting the elevator.

The door shut without a response and Natasha turned to walk down the long hallway.

She’d not spoken in Russian for a very long time and it shocked her that she remembered any words at all, let alone held a conversation with the Winter Soldier.

Bucky Barnes.

No. The Winter Soldier.

She’d seen that kind of disconnect before, that disassociation between the program and the person. It’d taken so long to be trained to ignore that training. She could acknowledge and appreciate the fact Bucky was fighting the Winter Soldier so well.

She just hoped he could find a healthy medium between the two.

Natasha sighed before knocking on the glass door at the end of the hall. A loud crash—and even louder explicative—reached her, and she rolled her eyes.

“If that’s Sam, I’m going to whoop your ass!”  Feet stomped toward the door. “Because, you should know better than to—oh.” Tony stopped, staring at Natasha through the glass.

She pressed her lips together and wiggled her fingers at him.

“Let me in,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Tony sighed heavily. “Did Steve send you to talk to me?”

“Actually, no,” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and crossed her arms. “He told me not to.”

“But here you are anyway,” Tony said, gesturing at her. “If Cap wants me to fix his friend up so bad, then he can come down here with the damn Scarecrow and we can talk it out. One on one.”

She scoffed. “Don’t you mean Tin Man?”

“No,” he said, crossing his own arms. “Scarecrow. Because, he can’t think for himself. Because, he doesn’t have a brain to—”

A gun went off, and the bullet hit and splintered the glass door so quickly Tony didn’t even see Natasha move for it.

“You are lucky,” she whispered, leaning closer to damaged glass. “That this door is bulletproof.” She turned around stormed in the direction of the elevator. “Don’t be a fucking dick,” she said, not turning around.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve nodded as Bucky picked up the glass of water.

"I'm going to go put on comfy clothes and then I'll sit up with you," Steve said, heading for his bedroom.

"Okay," Bucky said, holding the lip of the drink against his mouth. He looked down at the pill in his hand. He'd not taken one of them for a week and a half, able to fall asleep on his own for the first time in a very long time. It had seemed like he was getting better. _Well that's out the fuckin' window_ , he thought to himself. He leaned back against the plush sofa and exhaled, still holding the glass against his lips; it sloshed dangerously close to the brim.

Steve came out of his room—wearing a thin hoodie and baggy sweatpants—and eyed the scene before him.

"Look," Steve started. "If you don't want to take it, you don't have to. It's up to you. I'm not going to—"

Bucky sighed heavily. "No." He muttered. "I'm just frustrated." Steve sat in the armchair next to the sofa. Bucky turned his head slightly to look at him. "I was doing so good. I hadn't had an episode like that in so long."

Steve nodded. "Flashbacks are rough," he added.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You mean...?"

"PTSD is real common for war vets," Steve responded, lips drawn in a thin line. "Shoulda seen me the first time I heard a car backfire." He let out a dry laugh. "I never know what's gonna trigger it. Sometimes smells. Words've been known to do it."

"But you're _Captain America_ ," Bucky whispered.

"I'm still just a kid from Brooklyn, Buck," Steve closed his eyes, feeling tears prick the back of his eyes.

Bucky took a drink of water, unsure of what to say. The silence extended for several minutes before Steve cleared his throat and jumped up.

"Anyway," Steve said, sniffing and quickly wiping his eyes. "Take the medicine if you want. Or don't. I don't want you to think that you have to take it."

Bucky nodded, holding the pill between his thumb and forefinger. "That's genuinely what I needed to hear." He drank some water before tilting his head back, dropping the pill into his mouth, and swallowing everything. He looked at Steve for reassurance and earned a soft smile and a head nod.

"Alright," Steve said, tilting his head in the direction of Bucky's bedroom. "Let's get you ready for bed." He held out his hand and let Bucky pull himself up.

Steve held open the door to Bucky’s room and cracked it. (“Please don’t close the door all the way. I feel closed in,” he’d been told in the beginning. Bucky had been sitting on the edge of his bed, hair stringy and falling over his face. Steve had nodded and hadn’t pushed the subject.)

Bucky walked into his closet and threw his dirty clothes out into the room. Steve busied himself by picking up the articles of clothing and placing them in the hamper. He sat in an armchair next to the bed and looked out the window. It couldn’t be more than ten at night.

Lacing his fingers, he twiddled his thumbs and waited.

Bucky left the closet wearing a long sleeved shirt two sizes too big for him and very loose pants. Steve held his tongue, knowing not to mention this fact to Bucky—he couldn’t upset Bucky twice in one day.

Buck looked sheepishly up at him and tugged on the sleeves of his own shirt.

“Hey, do you ‘member when we’d sleep together in th’ winter?” He crawled onto the bed and sat crosslegged. “Maybe one day, we can do that again. When ‘m not so fucked up.”

“Buck,” Steve said, furrowing his brow. “You’re not fucked up.”

“Look, ‘m so fucked up it a’most hurts,” Bucky responded, pulling his sheets down. “How…” he paused, considering something. “How’d that doc’ make meds so strong, huh?”

Steve chucked. “I’m not sure.”

“Hmm,” he muttered, pressing his face into his pillow. “This pillow’s real soft, Steve.”

“Is that a good thing?” Steve asked, settling himself in the chair.

“I spent a long time not sleepin’ on pillows. So, yeah.” Bucky reached for the covers, flopping his arm in the general direction, but not making any progress.

“Here,” Steve said, standing up and covering his friend with the sheets. “I got you.”

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled.

“Of course,” he replied, sitting back down.

Neither of them talked for a long while, and Steve began to think Bucky had fallen asleep.

"M' arm," Bucky slurred, breaking the silence and causing Steve to jump slighly.

"What?" Steve asked, leaning towards the bed.

"Jus' realized m' arm's a trigg'r, or wha'ever you called it." Bucky exhaled deeply—breathing evening out—and didn't say anything else. Steve sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Oh Buck," he whispered.

 

Steve had—for some reason—looked at the clock before, so he knew Bucky violently woke up around two-thirty in the morning. He shot upwards, screaming and gripping a pillow; he flung it at the wall in front of him, and it hit with a thud louder than Steve anticipated.

"Buck," Steve said, standing and positioning himself in full view of his friend. Bucky's eyes looked wild and confused. "Buck, it's okay."

Bucky exhaled shakily and pulled another pillow from beside himself and shoved his face into it.

He screamed.

Steve winced, hearing the noise change from angry shouting to heartbreaking sobs.

"I don't know how to help you," Steve whispered. "I want to help you so bad."

Bucky sniffed, turning his head away from Steve.

"Please go," he mumbled, voice thick from crying. "I need to be alone right now."

"Okay," Steve said. "Alright." He went to place a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder but stopped himself at the last second.

Right.

He was so used to reassuring Bucky with touch that this "Please don't touch me unless I initiate it; this is nothing against you, I've just been touched so much and in some pretty bad ways that I cannot handle it at the moment." was living hell for him.

Steve understood, but he was so tactile that the ban almost physically hurt.

"I'll see you in the morning, Buck."

Bucky grunted his acknowledgement, and Steve cracked the door after he left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it hurts me to write it, I know it's going to hurt you to read it.

Bucky removed the pillow from his face and set it lightly beside himself, finally looking at the door when he was sure Steve had left.

He should have, but he hadn't expected the nightmare, the flashes of horror he’d committed for so many years.

Slipping off the bed, he pressed the palm of his hand to wall, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for the dizzy spell to pass.

It didn't.

Instead, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. The pillow he'd thrown rested limply against the wall. His sheets somehow managed to get twisted up and abandoned on one side of the bed. He slid down the wall and rested his head against it, picking at the carpet with his flesh hand, trying to ignore his metal hand.

_Monster. Monster. Monster._

“No, no, no,” he whimpered, hitting the floor with his fist. “Stop thinking that.”

Bucky opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling, the strip of light shining in around the cracked door. _Steve is out there,_ he thought. _And he probably can’t sleep now either; worrying about me. That used to be me._

He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes again.

 

_August 1940_

_The strip of light he’d been staring at for the majority of the night widened as the door slowly opened. A small figure stood in the doorway and Bucky immediately recognized it as his friend. Propping himself up on his elbows, he waiting for Steve to come closer. He didn’t._

_“Hey Steve,” he said, voice tight. “Where’ve you been?”_

_“I, uh,” Steve started, sniffing and running his hand through his hair. “Been out, ya know?”_

_“What time is it,” Bucky asked, sitting up fully now. Steve ducked his head around the door and looked at the clock beside the door._

_“Late,” he said, finally, starting to close the door. “Time for bed. Night, Buck.”_

_“Steve, I swear to God.” Bucky jumped out the bed and grabbed Steve’s wrist before flicking the light on. “Where’ve you been?”_

_Steve still faced away from him. “I’m not your dame, Buck,” he snapped. “Stop acting like I am.”_

_“You’re mama told me to watch out for you, dammit,” Bucky responded, tugging—but not hard enough to hurt him—on Steve’s arm._

_“Stop,” Steve whispered. “Please.”_

_“Look at me,” Bucky snapped. “Dammit, Rogers, look at m—”_

_Steve finally whipped around. “James!” He yelled, eyes red from crying and—judging the glazed expression and whiskey on his breath—drinking. Bucky’s mouth gaped open slightly._

_“Oh, Steve,” Bucky said, pulling Steve into a hug._

_“It’s barely been two months,” Steve said, sobbing into Bucky’s soft night shirt, gripping it like a child. “When will it stop hurting?”_

_“I don’t know, Stevie,” Bucky finally whispered. He reached over, still keeping one arm around Steve, and shut the light off. “Come here,” he whispered into Steve’s hair. “Let’s lay down, okay? I don’t want you passing out on me.”_

_Steve sniffed and nodded, pulling only slightly away so they could walk to the bed. Bucky helped lay him down and pulled the covers over him._

_“I’m gonna get you some water so you don’t have a headache in the morning,” he said, turning to go to the kitchen._

_“Don’t leave me,” Steve muttered, pressing his face against the pillow and reaching for Bucky’s hand. “Don’t leave me.”_

_“I won’t be leaving you anytime soon, punk,” Bucky said, smoothing Steve’s hair out of his face._

_“Promise?”_

_“Promise,” he said. “Let me get you that water, though, okay?”_

_Steve mumbled something that sounded affirmative, and Bucky smiled down at him._

 

Bucky brought his hand to his face and felt it was damp. Slowly bringing his knees to his chest, he folded himself over them; he felt so hollow.

Shaking, he wept as silently as he could.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve looked around the living room, at a sudden loss. He glanced over at the kitchen and saw dishes piled in the sink. He'd intended to do those last night. A blanket that'd been carelessly tossed, laid crumpled near the counter seperating the two spaces. He sighed and picked it up, tossing it on the couch. 

He didn't know what to do, felt absolutely worthless. Bucky had helped him through so much and yet when he was needed the most....Steve couldn't do anything.

"Hey, interface?" Steve started, staring at the ceiling cautiously. He couldn't remember the new A.I.'s name.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., sir," the robotic female voice said.

"I understand that reference," Steve chuckled, flopping down on the couch. "His Girl Friday. That was a great movie."

 

_February 1940_

_"Hey, ma?" Steve called. "I'm goin' out to the movies."_

_"Oh?" She said, peeking around the wall of the kitchen. "Do you need any money?"_

_"Nah, just wanted to let you know," Steve said, putting on his jacket—it was much too large for him. "I don't know when we'll be back. I reckon Buck'll probably spend the night if the snow gets real bad."_

_"Isn't James' apartment closer to the theater?" She asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel and draped it over a chair._

_Steve stopped, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans._

_"I guess you're right," he said. "I'll call you from his place if I do decide to spend the night there."_

_His mother smiled. "What movie are you gonna go see?"_

_"That new Cary Grant movie that came out 'bout a month ago," Steve jingled the change in his pocket, trying to glance inconspicuously at the clock._

_"Well let me know how it is, alright?" She said, voice sounding amused. "Don't keep James waiting any longer."_

_"See ya later." Steve grinned and wrenched the door open, his boots clomping as he went down the stairs._

_Outside, he saw Bucky leaning against a street light—cheeks red and hat pulled over his ears. A very light dusting of snow covered his head and shoulders. He rubbed his hands together and looked up._

_"You sure know how to keep a fella waiting, Rogers!" Bucky bellowed, pushing himself off the lamp. "Come here. I'm gonna stick my frost bitten hands up your shirt."_

_Steve jumped back and dodged Bucky's hands. "You have gloves!" He responded._

_"Look in the pockets of your coat, bud," Bucky said, shoving his hands under his armpits and starting down the street._

_Steve furrowed his brow and slowly put his hand in his coat pocket. Inside, he felt soft fleece. His eyes widened._

_"When did you borrow me your gloves?" Steve asked, pulling them out and handing them to Bucky._

_"When you were half dead from the cold the other night. When we were walking back to your place," Bucky said, putting them on._

_Steve flushed. "Oh yeah. Thanks."_

_"No problem, pal," Bucky said, putting his arm around Steve's shoulder and tugging him close to his side while they walked. "You just gotta pay me back....ya know, shine my shoes, fold my laundry..." He looked down and grinned at him._

_Steve smacked Bucky's chest, grinning the same goofy smile. "You wish."_

 

"Sir," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, pulling Steve out of the memory. "How may I be of assistance?"

Steve sighed and slowly stood. "I just wanted you to make sure James Barnes is okay while I go out. Like, alert me if anything happens."

"I will send an alert to your mobile device if anything should happen."

"Thanks," Steve said, patting his pocket to reassure himself the phone was where he'd last put it.

He cast one last look at Bucky's bedroom door before leaving their apartment.


	6. Chapter 6

What finally drew Sam away from his video game was a very short but loud knock on his door. 

"What in the..." He pressed pause and looked at the digital clock on the wall—its red numbers showed it was almost three in the morning. He placed his controller on the coffee table in front of him and groaned as he stood up. His right hand felt numb, so he massaged it as he walked to the door. 

Peering through the peep hole, he saw Steve leaning against the wall opposite the door, staring at the floor. Sam raised an eyebrow before unlocking and opening his door. He leaned against the door frame. Steve looked up.

"What are you doin' up, man?" Sam asked. 

"It's, uh..." Steve exhaled deeply before squeezing his eyes shut. "Been a long night." He finally said, opening his eyes to meet Sam's.

"Barnes?" Sam asked. Steve nodded jerkily. "Alright." Sam moved to the side. "Get your patriotic butt in here."

Steve's lip twitched in an effort for a smile, but failed. Instead, he walked into the apartment and shut the door. He stood in the small foyer looking every part the abused puppy.

"You want somethin' to drink?" Sam asked while walking to the kitchen. 

"Alcohol doesn't work," Steve said, voice sounding strained. "I tried a long time ago."

"Son, I didn't say alcohol," Sam responded, stopping and turning around. "I make a mean hot chocolate."

"I haven't had hot chocolate in a very long time," Steve responded, following Sam into the kitchen. 

 

_February 1940_

_By the time they exited the theater, the sun had set and a good three or four inches of snow covered the ground._

_"Well shit," Bucky muttered, kicking the cold, white fluff. "You're gonna freeze."_

_"Don't treat me like a child," Steve said, teeth clattering._

_Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Listen, punk. You need to get out of this cold."_

_"Ma said I could stay at your place if the snow got bad," Steven said, wrapping his arms around his body._

_"Alright, okay," Bucky said, taking his gloves out of his pocket. He held them out for Steve. "Here."_

_Steve shook his head. "I'm not taking your gloves again."_

_"Don't make me do this the hard way,"  Bucky threatened._

_Steve rolled his eyes. "You think you're so tough."_

_"Hey! I AM tough," Bucky said, putting his gloves back in his one pocket and pulling his hat out of the other. "Don't talk back to me," he said, grinning._

_"Oh yeah? What're you gonna do about it?" Steve asked._

_Bucky shrugged. "This."_

_Steve furrowed his brow and turned to ask Bucky what he meant when Steve's vision suddenly went black—Bucky shoving his hat on Steve's head, down over his eyes, careful not to obstruct his nose._

_"Bucky!" Steve yelped. "James Buchanan Barnes!"_

_Bucky laughed, lightly gripping Steve's shoulders from behind and directing him down the street. "If you had just listened to me in the first place," he said, whispering in Steve's ear. "Then I wouldn't've had to make a scene like this."_

_Steve flushed and hit one of Bucky's arms. "Alright. Alright! Give me your gloves."_

_Steve's vision suddenly cleared; he blinked at the brightness—the snow reflecting the streetlights and car headlights zipping past, going anyway and everywhere._

_Bucky held out the gloves—the slightest smirk on his face—and Steve grabbed them, sneering. Bucky threw his head back and laughed._

_The rest of the walk was spent talking about the movie and how funny it was—"Did you catch the joke Cary Grant made? About how that character looks like Ralph Bellamy?_ _"—interspersed with Bucky asking Steve if he was warm enough—"It's a five minute walk, Bucky. I'm not going to die." "Yeah, but what if you DO?"_

_When they finally made it to Bucky's apartment, they both felt very cold._

_"Get the heat on, Buck," Steve said, shivering. He sat down in a chair and began unlacing his shoes._

_"Put my gloves in my coat pocket," Bucky responded, kicking his boots in a corner and tossing his coat in the same general direction. Steve scoffed and placed his own boots by the door._

_"Would your place be clean if I didn't pick up after you?" Steve asked, placing his coat on the coat rack._

_"You're the best maid in Brooklyn," Bucky said over his shoulder, turning to give Steve a wink._

_Steve rolled his eyes and retrieved Bucky's coat and shoes, placing them where they belonged. He took off the gloves and shoved them in Bucky's empty coat pocket._

_"I gotta call my ma," Steve said, picking up the telephone. He pressed zero and waited._

_"Operator. How may I direct your call?" The sweet voice on the end asked._

_"Could you please connect me to this number?" Steve asked, politely stating his telephone number._

_"One moment please."_

_The phone began ringing._

_"Hello?"_

_"Hey mama. I decided to stay the night at Bucky's," Steve said._

_"Alright. I won't keep the light on for you then." He could hear the smile in her voice._

_"I'll tell you all about the movie tomorrow, okay?" Steve cradled the phone against his shoulder and turned to look at Bucky. His skin gleamed in the dim yellow lights above the kitchen table. He was bent over the stove clinking things around. "I love you," he said._

_"I love you too, baby," his mother said. "Have a good time tonight, okay?"_

_"I'm sure we will." Steve smiled._

_"Stay warm," she said. "And stay there if it turns into a blizzard, okay?"_

_"If Bucky doesn't throw me out first," Steve responded. Bucky looked up at the mention of his name and raised an eyebrow. Steve stuck his tongue out._

_"I doubt that." There was a pause. "Night, Steve."_

_"Night, mama." Steve placed the phone back on the receiver and walked into the kitchen. "Gosh, you sure got it warm in here." He sat at the table._

_Bucky sat down as well and slid one of the two steaming mugs over to Steve. "Drink up."_

_Steve peered into the mug and smelled chocolate. Wide eyed, he stared at Bucky. "Where'd you get chocolate?"_

_Bucky shrugged. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Stevie." He brought the mug up to his mouth and slurped._

_Steve stared at the hot chocolate suspiciously. "Was it illegal?"_

_"I can take it back," Bucky said, muffled by the mug in front of his face. "Dump it out the window for the homeless guys in  the alley to lick off the streets."_

_"Fine," Steve said, resigned. He took a small sip and closed his eyes. "This is heaven."_

_Bucky smiled._

 

"You are seriously telling me," Sam said hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. "That you ain't had this since 1940?"

Steve shrugged and sipped from his own mug. "Poverty. The war. Rationing."

"Damn," Sam muttered.

Steve set his mug down and tapped the counter with his fingernails. 

Sam set his own mug down and cleared his throat. Steve glanced up at him. 

"So," Sam said. "Wanna talk about it?"

Steve turned and blew air out of pursed lips. "Yeah," he finally said. "Guess now's as good a time as any."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for I have sinned. 
> 
> I hope the wait has been worth it

When he finally ran out of tears—when his face was streaked with the proof of his weakness—Bucky stood up. 

He no longer felt dizzy. No, it was something else, a stronger feeling niggling at the back of his mind. 

_Empty. You're empty. A shell._

Bucky hit the side of his head with the heel of his flesh hand. He did this three times, finally seeing white after the third blow. His hands dropped to his side, heavy. He felt so tired—exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. It was disheartening. Every seemingly successful movement forward was constantly crumbling under his feet. 

He was poised to fall, to plummet and he was not ready. He wanted to be better, dammit. 

_A monster like you doesn't deserve to get better_ — _you deserve death._

Bucky whined and gripped his head tightly, squeezing slightly and skirting the edge of a horrible headache. 

Running a hand through his tangled and sweaty hair, he suddenly realized how  _dirty_ he felt. He stripped his shirt and pants off while he walked and headed into the attached bathroom. The tile felt cool under his bare feet. 

Bucky stepped into the shower and wrenched the faucet on. Ice cold water blasted out of the shower head and Bucky gasped from the shock. He turned his face away from the flow of water and let it run down his back and over his hair. He looked down the wet tunnel his hair made and felt his muscles tensing and contracting, reminding himself he was alive. His metal arm grew uncomfortably cold against his side. He clenched that fist and the panels whirred. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to empty his mind. 

But the cold was too biting, and he couldn't. 

Bucky turned his face into the spray of water and gasped, eyes flying open. He sucked the cold water into his lungs and dropped to his knees, coughing and on the verge of screaming. He hit the wall in front of him with his metal fist and felt the ceramic crumble. 

 

_December 1946_

_"Sergeant Barnes." A mocking voice echoed through the dim and empty room. "Are you willing to cooperate with us?"_

_Bucky scoffed, craning his neck to try and get a grip of his surroundings. "I'm not working for you assholes." He knew for a fact that he was being too cocky for someone strapped to a metal table that smelled like antiseptic and bleach and faintly _—so faintly _—like blood.___

_"That is a disappointment," the voice stated, not sounding altogether disappointed. "I hate having to do this the hard way."_

_"Pal, I'm not s—" Bucky started saying. But, a damp towel was thrown over his face, halting the words in his throat. He pulled against the constraints with his only functioning arm, his left arm having been deactivated for today's activity. He tensed, waiting for the water to hit his face._

_This lasted several minutes, his ragged and stilted breathing the only audible noise in the room. Finally, he opened his mouth to make a remark when a large bucket of bitter cold water was dumped on his face._

_He inhaled violently and felt the waterlogged towel suffocating him._

 

"No!" Bucky was screaming, hitting the wall of the shower harder and harder. "No! Please!" He could feel hot tears contrasting the cold water run down his cheeks and taste the salt from them. "Stop!"

Bucky dropped even further to the ground, pressing his body as closely to the floor of the shower as he could. Curling in on himself, he continued screaming unintelligibly.

He didn't notice when the water stopped falling on him or even when a large, soft towel found its way over his body.

"Hey," a gentle voice said, cutting through his screams and silencing him. "Buck, listen to the sound of my voice, okay?"

Bucky's eyes cracked open, and he looked over at the man kneeling beside him.

"Steve," he rasped. "Stevie." He choked on a sob and reached his hand out, grasping for his best friend's. "Hold me," he whispered.

Steve laced his finger's with Bucky's. "I got you, Buck. I got you."

"Help me," Bucky whispered before pressing his face into Steve's knee—it was by no means comfortable—and shaking. 


	8. Chapter 8

Steve was on his second cup of hot chocolate when the alarm on his phone sounded and F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice filled the room. 

"Captain Rogers. James Barnes is currently experiencing an anxiety attack in the shower."

"Shit." Steve jumped from his seat and headed for the exit. "I shouldn't have left him alone. I mean, he asked to be left alone, but I shouldn't have left the apartment. I could have just called and talked to you on the phone. That would hav—" He started turning the door knob, but paused when a warm hand rested on his shoulder. He looked over at Sam. 

"Don't beat yourself up about this, Cap," Sam said, squeezing Steve's shoulder. "You can't predict when an episode'll happen."

"But I should have _assumed_  he would need me." Steve deflated slightly. "I'm constantly letting him down."

"Hey," Sam let his hold of the other man go. "You haven't let Bucky down."

"It feels like it," Steve muttered.

"Well it's not true." Sam paused. "He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Steve turned the knob the rest of the way and pulled the door open. He paused in the doorway before turning to Sam. 

"Thanks for listening to me," he said quietly. 

Sam smiled. "Any time, man."

He closed the door behind him and headed for his apartment.

 

Steve could hear a shower running when he opened the door. 

"Buck?" Steve called. He heard muffled noise coming from the same direction of the shower. "Bucky?" He slowly pushed the door to Bucky's room open and he could hear the noise more clearly—screaming. 

Steve's chest ached and he opened the door to the bathroom. Bucky was laying on the floor of the shower, screaming like a broken man. 

"Oh no," Steve whispered. He frantically opened the cabinet doors looking for a soft towel. He pulled one from a shelf and moved to turn the shower off. He knelt down and gently laid the towel over his friend's naked body. 

"Hey," Steve said, barely audible. But the screaming stopped and Steve continued speaking. "Buck, listen to the sound of my voice, okay?"

Bucky looked over at him, eyes rimmed red. 

"Steve," Bucky rasped, throat sounding raw and sore. "Stevie." He let out a sob and reached for Steve's hand, groping for it desperately. "Hold me," he whispered. 

Steve quickly laced his fingers with Bucky's. "I got you, Buck," he said, on the verge of tears himself. "I got you."

"Help me," Bucky whispered, trying to hide his face against Steve's knee and shaking. 

Steve looked at Bucky and frowned, heartbroken. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Bucky's wet hair. Bucky barely tensed and for only a moment. He groaned, dragging in a ragged breath before coughing out violently. 

"I can't..." Bucky struggled. "Air. Breathe."

 

_October 1944_

_The sun was still several hours from rising when Steve woke to whimpering coming from the bedroll closest to him. He squinted his eyes and saw Bucky in the dim light, brow furrowed in distress._

_Steve pressed his lips together and moved to Bucky as quietly as he could._

_"No, no," he was whispering, tossing his head side to side. "Please stop."_

_Steve paused for a moment before lightly touching Bucky's arm and giving him a gentle shake._

_"Buck," Steve said quietly. "Buck, it's a nightmare. Wake up." He shook him slightly rougher and Bucky gasped awake, sitting up._

_"Steve?" Bucky panted, looking confused for a brief moment._

_"Yeah," Steve whispered. "You were having a nightmare."_

_Bucky gulped and his jaw was slightly slack. "Thanks," he said, sounding out of breath. They silently stared at each other for a handful of seconds, Steve waiting for Bucky's breathing to even out._

_"Are you okay?" Steve finally asked. "Can you breathe?"_

_Bucky paused, clearly debating lying before he looked at his hands resting in his lap and shook his head._

_"No."_

 

Steve's hand paused. "Do you think you can stand?" 

"I dunno," Bucky said. "Not by myself."

"Alright," Steve said. "Let me help you up." Bucky shook his head. "You have to get up."

"No," Bucky whimpered. He would have been inaudible to someone without such good hearing.

"Come on," Steve said, clambering to his feet, not letting go of Bucky's hand. "Let me help you get back to your bed." He helped Bucky stand, though his knees were shaking and weak, and step out of the shower.

Bucky gripped the towel tightly, making sure it covered him, and shuffled next to Steve.

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispered.

"Don't be."

 

_Steve gripped Bucky's shoulder. "What do you need?"_

_Bucky shrugged, shaking his head. His chest heaved up and down, and he rubbed his forehead with his hand._

_"Hey," Steve said. "Remember when I'd have a real bad asthma attack and you'd help me through it?"_

_Bucky nodded jerkily._

_Steve opened his arms, motioning for Bucky to come closer. "I think the same applies to nightmares," he said, raising an eyebrow._

_"The Commandos," Bucky gasped out._

_Steve shrugged. "They've seen worse, I'm sure." Steve winked at him._

_Bucky choked on a laugh and leaned into Steve's chest. Steve squeezed him once and began breathing exaggeratedly._

_"Here," Steve said. "Let's lay down. It'll be more comfortable." Bucky let himself be manhandled into a horizontal position and then pressed his face into Steve's chest, trying so hard to even his breathing out. Steve rubbed Bucky's back._

_"Hey, just relax. You're fine," Steve whispered. "I got you."_

_Bucky let out a long breath and felt his body relax. They stayed that way, silent except for the sound of their breathing._

_"Thanks," Bucky mumbled, sleep trying to pull him under._

_"It's no problem," Steve smiled._

 

Steve helped Bucky slowly put on a loose pair of sweatpants and directed him to his bed. Bucky still was not breathing regularly, each inhale sounding painful. He sat on the edge of the bed, not looking up at Steve.

"You can go now," Bucky said.

Steve furrowed his brow. "What makes you think I'm going to leave you?"

Bucky sniffed and shrugged halfheartedly. "You need to sleep."

"I can't," Steve said. "I can't leave you like this." Bucky finally glanced up. "Would it...." he paused, crossing his arms loosely and looking off to the side.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Can I touch you?" Steve cringed. "I mean," he added, hastily, "can I help you breathe?" Bucky didn't respond for a moment and Steve felt stupid. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I can just go."

"No," Bucky whispered, reaching out for his friend. "I mean, please." Steve looked at Bucky and felt the back of his eyes prickle with tears. "Lay down with me. Help me."

Steve relaxed and moved to stand beside the bed. "Whatever you need, Buck," Steve said. 

Bucky sniffled and shifted to the middle of the bed. Steve carefully followed him and gently drew him in before leaning against the headboard. 

Bucky gripped the front of Steve's shirt and pressed his face into Steve's chest. 

"Just breathe," Steve whispered. 

"It's easier with you here," Bucky muttered. 

Steve's chest ached and his hold on Bucky tightened. "I'm not planning on leaving you." He heard Bucky's breathing hitch and decided to ignore the tears wetting his shirt. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I've managed to snag two part time jobs and have thus slacked. I'm very sorry. And this chapter honestly isn't that long.... Please don't hate me.

Light filtered in through a crack between the curtains, shining directly on Bucky's closed eyes.

He groaned and threw his flesh arm over his face and turning his head slightly to the side. 

"Well good morning, sunshine," he heard Steve say. He peeked an eye open and saw Steve—his face kind and open—sitting in the chair next to his bed. 

"You stayed here all night?" Bucky asked, throat strangely sore. Steve glanced off to the side and didn't say anything. Bucky furrowed his brow and leaned up on his elbows. "What?"

"You, uh," Steve started, lacing his fingers. "You don't remember last night?"

"I know I took that medicine after I had an episode..." Bucky stated hesitantly. "And I asked you to stay while I slept."

Steve nodded, still not making eye contact. "Yeah, that did happen."

"Then what's up?" Bucky sat up all the way and ran his flesh fingers through his hair. It felt damp. "Wait." He looked at his hand, confused. "Why is my hair wet?"

"You took a shower," Steve responded, studying an obnoxious hangnail rather than meeting Bucky's eye.

"I don't remember... Wait." Bucky's eyes widened and he looked down at his metal arm. "Shit." He threw his sheet off the bed and dangled his legs over the side. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Son of a BITCH!" He hit the side of the bed with his flesh hand before cradling his head with that hand. 

Steve finally looked up, staring at Bucky with a worried expression on his face. 

 

_June 1956_

_"Status report," the masked Hydra operative said, standing in front of the Asset._

_"The mission required underwater maneuvering," the Winter Soldier stated, not breaking eye contact with the other._

_"Did you complete the proper maintenance to ensure your equipment did not rust?"_

_There was a terse silence before the Solder finally broke eye contact._

_"Negative."_

_"That is an integral part of your training. Why did you forget?"_

_The Winter Soldier paused, thinking about the Sergeant he'd been tasked with assassinating. The man had looked so familiar—bright blue eyes, blond hair, an unnerving will to fight—and when he'd left the stronghold, diving underwater for several long minutes to avoid being shot, he felt confused. Dazed, he'd forgotten to dry off. He'd trudged off to the checkpoint and hadn't requested a servicing kit. He'd completely forgotten about the damage until right now._

_A crack filled the silent room and it took the Winter Soldier a moment to realize he'd been slapped._

_"Do you understand how many resources are used to keep your equipment functioning at one hundred percent?" The Soldier narrowed his eyes but didn't answer. "Do you?" the man sneered. "Or are you too dense to understand, you worthless dog?"_

_The Winter Soldier lunged at the Hydra operative but was hindered by the vice clenching his arm. He screamed and gripped his shoulder._

_"Gentlemen," the Hydra agent said. "Please fix and then properly discipline the Asset." The man turned to leave. "He's weak. Hurt him."_

_The Soldier panted heavily and turned away from the group._

 

"What..." Steve said, half out of his chair. "What's wrong?"

"I'm worthless," Bucky dropped his right arm onto his lap and stared at the floor and his bare feet. Absentmindedly, he wiggled his toes. "I should have remembered."

"You're not weak..." Steve started, cut suddenly off when Bucky had to physically lift his left arm with the other and let it flop on the bed. "Oh." It felt like he'd been punched in the chest, all the air leaving his body as he realized what happened. 

"I know better!" Bucky growled, balling his right hand into a fist. 

"This isn't your fault, it's an honest mistake," Steve said, crouching in front of Bucky so they would be eye to eye if Bucky looked up. "If anything, it's my fault I didn't realize it needed dried. I was more concerned about getting you to a safe place." 

Bucky finally looked up, tears streaming his cheeks and leaving them shiny. "How am I not out of tears yet?" He rasped. 

"'Cause you stored up a lot over the past seventy years," Steve said, fingers itching to press against Bucky's face and wipe the tears away. 

"How am I going to fix this?" Bucky asked, looking at his limp arm. 

Steve let out a long exhale and pressed his lips together. "There's only one person I know who could possibly fix it."

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back more tears. "And, he hates me."


End file.
